Regrets cause wishful thinking
by I once was young
Summary: Draco has lived a life of regrets, but some stand out more so than others. Harry Potter seems to notice this. Burning bridges is alot easier if you don't care. HPDM Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I got good feedback on my last story, 'Uprising.' So, I'm here to write another story! I hope everyone likes this story, too. Also, I get over 500 visitors in the first day of my stories and I would really love it if 1/3 of those people would review. It's not that I want thousands of reviews so everyone is awe inspired. I simply want to know what most people think. Thank you again for everyone who does review. On to the story, I own nothing. (As usual.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"I regret burning that bridge, every single day."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco recalls those few minutes every time he sees raven hair and tan skin. He can remember the acidic taste of rejection and the hot flush of abandoned dreams. Yes, it would be fair to say that Draco remembers the day he lost his chance at being the Boy Wonders friend.

But, also in saying that, he must admit that he doesn't always regret it. Like when the Weasel and Granger come up missing, hurt, or in the line of danger. He doesn't exactly feel like he missed out on much, in that aspect.

It's more like the times when Potter's bangs are drenched in sweat and he has the heat of the snitch in the palm of his hand. He runs to his friends and its all high fives and hugs, everything that might have been his.

It's more like the times when Potter stands up to him, eyes flashing and defending everything that is right. It's at that moment when Draco really does wish he could run from the dungeons and beg for the light. But he doesn't, he stays in the snake pit and pretends not to see his breath in the middle of the night.

Draco doesn't kid himself; he doesn't think that one day Harry Potter will offer his calloused hand in return. He really doesn't wake up in the morning and tell himself that today will be different, lighter, _better. _He is more idealistic in the face of the rising sun, but sun always sets and so do his hopes.

Some of the other houses think he is obsessed, some say he is in love, and maybe a rare few understand. They understand that he is still walking into a big, new place and hoping to make his father proud. He just wanted to look out for the messy boy, but he didn't understand that.

There are rumors flying around gossiping ears, talking about why he hasn't been fighting back this year. Does Malfoy finally realize he isn't superior? Did he find a heart over the summer? He laughs at those mortal thoughts, so simple and childish.

Draco Malfoy doesn't believe he has a heart, he is pretty sure he would have found it by now if he had one. He doesn't feel bad when Hufflepuffs trip over their own feet, he laughs when Ravenclaws choke on moldy dust from unused books. But most of all, he wishes he was Harry Potter's friend.

Now, if he happened to be Harry Potter's friend he knows what would happen. He would either cause pain, maybe get his father too close accidentally, or he would break the boy's heart. Because Draco knows that, he knows Harry has a heart. He notices it every time he helps a clumsy Hufflepuff up, he notices when he pats Ravenclaws on the back and smiles at them.

Draco notices these things and he wants to be a better person, he wants to find a heart over the summer. But, he cannot simply find one lying around. He has looked frantically in Diagon Alley, poked around in scary alleys. Yet, here he is, still heartless.

Harry Potter starts to look at him more, staring blatantly during class or even during supper. His brows furrow and his mouth turns into a horrible scowl. Draco catches himself before he reaches out and smoothes these intense looks from his usual happy face. He catches himself from doing it, but the yearning is a little harder to swallow.

"Malfoy, are you really a snake?" Harry's question breaks his smirk and causes him to look at the wall.

They are alone in the corridor and Draco doesn't have much to say in return. Because, he honestly should be a snake and he has no doubts about that. Except, he might have a few he isn't willing to admit. He isn't into suicidal missions, he enjoys dark magic, he doesn't like weakness, he rather push people away than pull them in. But, he doesn't like hearing screaming coming from all rooms in the manor, he can't watch people twitch and beg without getting sick, he does not have a dark mark burnt into his arm.

Draco Malfoy isn't sure what he is anymore, but maybe he never really was a snake to begin with.

"Potter, you are asking the wrong question."

The furrowed brows over dinner become curious eyes over every meal. He feels like he is always being watched, constantly being questioned by the mouth of a lion.

Draco continues to glare at anyone who touches him, continues to make the second highest grades, and he continues obsessing over the past. He replays the stunned expression, replays the hard and decisive _no _that will forever ring through his idle mind.

"Malfoy, do you ever have regrets?" Another night, another corridor, and another moment that Draco will fixate on when everyone else is gripping onto their dreams.

Regret is an emotion that Draco is of course very familiar with, he has always felt it. He regretted pushing Pansy down in the mud when they were younger, she still has a scar from her mothers ring. He regretted trying to hug his father when he was nine, he can still hear the crack of his fathers can breaking on his back. Draco even regretted laughing at the Weasley girl's expense; he understands what it is like to be in awe of Harry.

"That is indeed a better question, Potter. But, Malfoy's don't have regrets." Draco goes to sleep that night with the image of Potter's sour smile in his mind.

Draco has always loved Potions, ever since Professor Snape told him he had what it took to be a great Potions Master. Draco wasn't the best at Quidditch, wasn't the top of his class, wasn't the most loved, but he was the best at Potions.

He knew when to stir, when to add ingredients, when to stop and just watch, and he didn't need a textbook to aid him. He wishes he could say the same thing for life. He never knows when to change, or when he needs something, and he wouldn't say no to some aid in everyday life.

Draco Malfoy knew how to survive; he knew how to stay alive even in the worst conditions. But he was never taught how to live, mostly because Malfoy's were marble and marble never asks for much.

"Do you have any regrets, Draco?"

The use of his given name causes him to reevaluate the person in front of him. Maybe Potter could understand if he could only get that Gryffindor courage and just vomit all his emotions out. Maybe Potter would offer support and pat his back when he heard of all the cruel things he has had to endure, simply and for no other reason, because he was a Malfoy.

But that was not the question and, after all, he was still a Slytherin.

"Yes." There is not much else he needs to say after that, the question wasn't looking for what he was regretful of. It was just a curious question of if he could possible feel emotions, beyond the selfish needs.

"Sometimes, I can see you thinking maybe even backtracking and I know. I know in your face that sometimes, you have regrets."

Draco doesn't turn, or pretend that this changes things; he simply continues to walk the other direction. Because this is the way it has to be, it has to be gut wrenching and painful. They are not on the same side and have never walked the same path in life. Draco does regret not being able to turn and say thank you, though. Somehow he thinks Potter knows this, anyways.

~~~"We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think this is going to be multi- chaptered! Perhaps the next chapter will be in Harry's view. But I really like this and am actually proud of it. So, if you read it, review it! Please and thank you. I will also be taking suggestions for future stories if you would like to message me!


	2. Harry's POV

**Disclaimer: **Okay, well, no one reviewed my first chapter of this. But I couldn't help but add this chapter, anyways. Thank you for reading.

These characters do not belong to me.

Enjoy.

~~~~~"I want to find a part of me that does not belong to you."~~~~~~

Harry could still see the length of his pale arm held out in a friendly, if not cocky, stance. His fingers looked soft, like the silk his robes were made with, and Harry wanted nothing more than to thread his own fingers with his. But Harry didn't, and he ponders the outcome of that decision daily. It crosses his mind whenever he sees flashes of silver, or hears the sound of hissing.

Harry knows, though, if he had cupped palms with Draco Malfoy that he would have been more screwed than he is now. He knows he would have let the hat place him in Slytherin, and he wouldn't be viewed as 'Golden' as he is now. He knows that Draco would have changed him drastically. But, Harry concedes, that change wouldn't necessarily be the bad thing in his hypothesis.

Harry can admit that it would be a higher possibility that he would have fallen completely in love with the other boy.

It might seem strange or perhaps opposite of what half the school whispers about them, but still undeniably true. Harry thinks the way Draco moves is the most elegant thing he has ever gotten to witness. The way Draco moved, danced, during the ball was exquisite and mesmerizing. Sometimes he still closes his eyes and can see the twirling and bowing of blonde hair.

Harry isn't the kind of person that is delusional, however. His life is so chaotic that he can't drench himself in some day dream of love. He is certain that Draco Malfoy will never offer his hand again, at least not in a friendly manner. And he is positive that Draco Malfoy will never let the ice around him melt in front of nemesis.

But he has hopes, and those perhaps are harder to bear than the rest of the world.

--

Harry notices before most that silver eyes aren't flashing heatedly and there is no sound coming from a razor sharp tongue. He can't help but feel abandoned, like he isn't even worth the fight anymore. He see's the Slytherin laughing at Ravenclaws and snarling at Hufflepuffs. But Harry Potter is now beneath him, and he refuses to even look in his direction.

Harry feels a heat in his chest that he hasn't felt since Sirius.

--

Ron nudges him every time his eyes wonder towards the silver and green house table. Hermione scolds him when he starts to let a scowl take over his usual smile. But he can't help but watch silver eyes flicker up at him, calculating Harry in a way that he hasn't this year at all.

Harry is out of his seat and chasing after Malfoy as soon as he leaves his throne and the Great Hall doors shut behind him.

Draco turns when he hears the doors open and shut after him, smirk slathered all over his tired face. He watches Harry with a surprised and almost accepting look. Harry is at a loss as soon as he sees those hands and he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Malfoy, are you really a snake?"

Harry nearly blushes and curses himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. That wasn't what he was going for at all. It wasn't the question that stood boldly in his mouth, but that question was never going to be asked. No matter how soft Malfoy's lips look. He doesn't even expect a response, and is pleasantly surprised when he gets one.

"Potter, you are asking the wrong question."

Harry feels as if he should know the rest of the puzzle, but he is left alone in the corridor with a swirl of black, silk robes.

--

Harry knows that he thought he was getting obsessive before, but now that he has heard that voice without any venom he feels as if he needs more of it. It has become the air pumping through his body, and he has no idea how one sentence could change the whole game between them. Harry doesn't even know the rules anymore, but he has always had luck in the past with unknown territory.

--

Silk fingers stretched out in the most innocent hello he could muster, his fathers words pouring out in such a small voice. Slicked back blonde hair; disciplined and contained. Just like the rest of him. Silver eyes swirling with a need, a need for any kind of contact Harry could give him.

Rejection, denial.

Harry throws up as soon as he awakens from his dream.

--

"Malfoy, do you ever have any regrets?"

Because I do, because I regret not loving you when I had a chance to, Harry wants to say. But, he doesn't, and he stays silent even though he knows that he should speak up. The silence continues to grow between them, stone walls more appealing than Harry himself.

He almost turns to leave when Draco's small, but steady, voice breaks the stillness.

"That is indeed a better question, Potter. But, Malfoy's don't have regrets."

Harry falls asleep that night thinking of Malfoy's bitter smile and hushed eyes.

--

Harry loves to fly, loves the feeling of cascading air and euphoria. He memorizes the way the clouds feel and the way the rain tastes. He likes the burning in his eyes, the way they sometimes tear up and wet his flushed cheeks.

This is the only time he can let go of everything that builds within him.

He understands that he might be emotionally crippled and the constant fear of falling doesn't stop once his feet are safely on the muddy ground. The sloshing of organs and the heartache of need follows him all the way to his bed.

He needs a lot of things, but he will start with questions that don't mean much beyond broken lips.

--

"Do you have any regrets, Draco?"

To say his name felt foreign and was pronounced as if broken glass was scraping his soft pallet. He could see the hurricane swirling in the Dragons storm colored eyes. Harry just wanted him to spill _his _sloshing organs onto the floor and beg for Draco's heart in return.

"Yes."

Simple, and yet painfully heartbreaking. Harry knew he would never get more than that out of his supposed rival. He knew that the other boy had given so much of himself, by simply uttering that one word. Harry knew, and yet he still craved more and found himself yearning after the backtracking Slytherin.

Harry wanted to yell out that he understood and wished he could swoop in and just take off flying into the midnight sky with him. Perhaps, one day, that starry night will swallow them both whole and they will be able to whisper their darkest secrets.

The moon might murmur, _'I wish you would have taken my hand.'_

And maybe the stars would reply with a soft, '_you have it now, and forever.'_

~~~~~"They would not listen, they are not listening still."~~~~~

I hope someone out there liked this story. I have not gotten any feedback at all for this. So, I don't know if I will continue to put my Harry Potter stories on here. I guess we will see. But I enjoyed writing this and hope I get reviews.


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